


Making a Difference

by Avon7



Category: The Bill
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-14
Updated: 2016-05-14
Packaged: 2018-06-08 07:28:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6844885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Avon7/pseuds/Avon7
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>We were all young and idealistic once – even Tom Chandler.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Making a Difference

The sharp smell of new paint still lingered in the room but a heady mix of expensive aftershave, cigarette smoke and wine was rapidly overwhelming it. Camera flashes cast sudden flares of light across the gathered throng of politicians, sharp suited-businessmen, top brass from the job, carefully selected community members and press.   In his spot by the door PC Thomas Chandler almost shone with excitement. One day he wouldn’t be just taking coats and uttering polite greetings – he’d be one of those in a flash foreign suit and an exquisitely knotted tie. He was going places; he knew it. Even now the Chief Inspector was recognising his potential. Sure, he was here in almost a menial role but he was here, part of the public face of the Met, while back at the station the sergeants who seemed to think he was all flash and no substance plodded on with the day to day work of the nick. Of course, he did look a credit to the Force; he knew that, too.   With a carefully discreet head tilt to catch his reflection in the glass door, he made sure that this was still so. Yes, from carefully waved hair to knife-edge creased pants to beautifully fitting jacket to positively glowing shoes he was still perfection. It was no surprise when a journalist – female, about thirty and not a bad looker for her age, he thought - approached him.   He smiled charmingly as she introduced herself and allowed himself to unbend a little. The dignitaries seemed to be busy at the buffet table and his Chief Inspector was hemmed in on the other side of the room by members of the local residents’ committee, all anxious to get his ear.

“It’s great to see someone from the sharp end here today – not just the higher ups looking for glory.   What’s your connection with the new Youth Centre?”

Tom tried to look modest while considering how far he could stretch the truth.

“Oh well, as you know, it is a real community effort – police and business in partnership to help the local residents - so we’ve all done our bit.”

“Oh.”

She looked bored and the hand holding her notebook dropped to her side. **That** was no more or less than could be gleaned from the PR handouts – she wanted a human interest story.

Tom saw he was losing her.

“As someone who works this beat regularly and being close to their age I’ve been able to develop close ties with the youth of the community and open up new channels of communication. I realised that if we could provide them with an appropriate facility we could improve the life of all the residents.”

“So the initiative was your idea?”

She was close enough that he could smell her perfume now and he was very tempted to go with that… but the project had been years in the making and he’d only arrived at Hackney from his probationary placement at Feltham a few months ago. Tom Chandler might be brash, bold and pushy but he was no fool. You don’t lie where exposure is inevitable. He settled for the truth and a deprecating smile.

“No, no, they were well on the way when I transferred here - but I joined the committee immediately and I think I can say my input has been invaluable.   I understand how these kids feel, of course, and walking these streets daily I see the problems they are struggling against. They need our support so they can make a future for themselves.”

That, he thought, sounded rather good.   She seemed to think so as her pen was scratching busily, allowing Tom a bit more freedom to survey her. Really she wasn’t bad at all – her tailored suit fitted in all the right places and they did say a woman reached her sexual peak in her thirties….

“I see you’ve met one of our rising young stars, Maureen,” boomed an unexpected voice.

Tom, once more PC Chandler, SH 532, straightened back to attention, smirk vanishing.

“Sir!”

The Area Commander beamed expansively at both of them, warmed by good Scotch and the prospect of a public relations triumph.

“You’d do well to keep your eye on young Thomas here. Chief Inspector Maddison tells me he’s made an impressive contribution to this project. You’ll be after my job in a few years, I daresay!”

Tom smiled politely at the sally but a sudden flush of excitement stained his cheeks. The Area Commander knew of him!

He almost missed that Maureen was suggesting to Commander Cooper that a small article about such a dedicated young officer would be an excellent ad for the job and it was in a slight daze that he was shepherded outside while Maureen collected a photographer. Modest or unambitious were not words that applied to Tom Chandler but this was almost beyond his dreams. This really was the start of the stellar career he had mapped out – he’d be a superintendent before he was forty, he knew it.

Still wrapped in that golden haze he posed for two photographs, answered a string of questions – born in Yorkshire, played representative football as a schoolboy, five A levels, doing a legal studies course in his free time and became a police officer because he wanted to make a difference – and accepted both the business card she pressed on him and the hand squeeze which went with it.

Walking home that afternoon, through the edge of the estate to the cheap flat he’d found – section house living cramped your social life too much – the glow still surrounded him. The card, intriguingly full of possibilities, lay in his pocket for later consideration, he knew he was on his way in his career and the world had decided to provide a golden afternoon to match his mood. As he passed by the playground area a mock derisive voice cried,

“Hey, if it isn’t Inspector Gadget!”

“Go, go, go, Gadget, go!” chorused another voice.

Tom grinned and turned to face the playground. Two youths jumped the low wall and landed beside him. He cocked his head and smiled at them.

“Well, hey-up, Bill and Ben, the flowerpot men!”

“Offi-cer! Are you accusing my client of taking drugs?’ Jase O’Connor asked in his best social worker voice.

Oddly enough, no.” Tom answered. “How would you fit in the time? How many little old ladies did you mug today?”

It was Zen Mugabe who hammed it up this time.

“We good boys! We been at school learning reading, writing and ‘rithmatic.”

Tom snorted his disbelief – school was the last place Jase and Zen were likely to have been. They weren’t real villains though – just bored kids with not much future and a bit of a wild streak. They were just like the kids he grew up with in that street of little up and down houses on the outskirts of Sheffield – just like him before he’d found his dream.   He thought he’d almost talked Zen into a tech course on car mechanics.

“’Sides grass ruins your wind,” added Jase. “Stuffs you up for football, proper.”

Tom had resumed walking now and the boys fell in either side of him.

“Game on tonight?” he asked.

“Yup, ‘bout seven. You playin’?”

They were both watching hopefully beneath the cool poses and Tom decided consideration of older women could be put off to another day. The games were a bit rough and ragged sometimes but hard fought and he enjoyed them. He had a competitive streak that could have powered Dungess Power station, after all. Of course, he enjoyed the admiration he received - because he was a little more polished and had played against some ‘name’ players - too. It was also a way to get to know the local youth and to try and keep some of them involved in something other than drugs or crime. It wasn’t just them having a chance to get a bit of coaching that mattered – it was seeing a copper as something other than filth. He talked to the kids too – tried to get them to see that they did have choices and they could find a dream. The Youth Centre was something else that would give them somewhere to go and something to do. He had plans for pool tournaments, video nights, and all sorts of things. In two years time, according to his plan, he’d be gone to CID but he knew his time here could make a difference to these kids.

“Yeah, I’ll be there.”

“Ace! You got time for a kick-around now? Show us more of those fancy passes of yours?”

Tom shook his head. “Nope, can’t do it, guys. Places to go, people to see. Why don’t you go and check out the new Youth centre? They’ve got four C64s!”

“It ain’t open yet – not for us types – tomorrow we’ve got to wait ‘til.”

“Guess they want to make sure they’ve scraped out the last drunken suit,” added Jase.

Tom smiled a little without comment. Politics, the world was about politics – what he thought wasn’t important but what he said certainly was.

They’d reached the edge of the estate, where they always parted, so Tom paused for a moment.

“I’ll see you at seven then – try and stay out of trouble.”

Zen grinned. “Oh, we’ll entertain ourselves somehow, Mr Policeman.”

 

*********************************************************

 

It was about six when Tom decided he’d had all and more than he could stand of Legal Studies and would head over early to see if Jase and Zen – or any of the others -were hanging around. There usually were a few kids out on the waste ground with a ball at any time of the day.

He heard the sirens before he’d passed the first two tower blocks. There seemed to be two of them and they were travelling fast, he guessed from the way the sound moved. Probably another stolen car - and good luck to them if they could catch them in this rabbit warren. That was A relief’s problem tonight though and he shrugged and went on towards the waste ground. He was on the edge of it when the car roared past him - a red Sierra. Its radio was pounding, it was swerving all over the road - and Jase O’Connor was hanging out the window cheering. As it swung around the corner Tom caught a glimpse of Zen hunched behind the wheel. Straight behind it came the area car with screaming siren and flashing lights.

Tom swore, and for a mad second started running after them. He stopped after a few metres though – what could he do? He couldn’t stop them now and he couldn’t prevent them being arrested. He didn’t even know he wanted to. How could they be so bloody stupid?

Suddenly the roar of engines vanished in a frantic squeal of brakes and a huge tearing crash, leaving only the sirens high and thin above the estate. Then they disappeared beneath the boom of an explosion. Tom ran now, ran faster than he’d ever run on a football field, ran so his breath whistled through him. Up Shank Lane and into Reilly Street where the playground was - then he stopped. They were there – the car was half through the playground wall, half tilted up on it. Flames danced from it, sending up clouds of black oily smoke. The area car team were making efforts with a fire extinguisher but the two bodies that lolled in the front seat, black outlines against the flames, were beyond help. Tom stayed where he was, in the shadow of one of the tower blocks and behind the crowds that were gathering. He leant against the wall and watched as the firefighters arrived. He stayed there as the evening gradually darkened and watched the machinery of death take over. The relief’s inspector arrived and then the Chief Inspector, unfamiliar in a casual jacket and pants. Jase’s parents and Zen’s mother appeared and were led away by WPCs. The area car team were spoken to and then driven back to the station. Traffic investigators measured skid marks and chalked hieroglyphics on the road and a photographer arrived and clicked his way around the scene as the SOCO made their survey. Finally, a mortuary van removed the bodies and a lorry was loaded up with the remnants of the car. The crowd faded away when the action was over, leaving only a sand-covered street and a broken-fenced playground. The last of the long twilight was fading as Tom sat down on edge of the gutter. He picked up a handful of the sand the firefighters had spread to absorb the oil and petrol and watched as it trickled through his fist. In a mocking echo he heard his voice, confident and sincere – “I want to make a difference.” The sand was blurring before his eyes and it wasn’t the evening chill that made him shiver.

_I thought I could make a difference._

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> With thank to and fond memories of the AWA. For those too young to remember C64s or Commodore 64s were early computers - great games machines in their time.


End file.
